


Angel Eyes - Celestial Slow Dance

by TheOvidians



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dancing, Inspired by Music, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Other, bookshop evenings, ineffable husbands, its one of those 'oh no he didn't' type of situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 17:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20086378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOvidians/pseuds/TheOvidians
Summary: Inspired by Ella Fitzgerald's Angel Eyes (whose lyrics also appear in the story), this fic tells the story of a seeminly casual evening when an angel and a demon met in a familiar bookshop for lots of wine and music. What started as a purely hypothetical question soon turns into a challenge that somehow involves dancing, which is believed to be impossible for both sides to be properly practiced and, which will lead to addressing old, unattended wounds and new, bold agreements.I hope you enjoy this story at least as much as I enjoyed writing it! And if possible, please enjoy Fitzgerald's song as you read it.





	Angel Eyes - Celestial Slow Dance

“Try to think that love's not around  
But it's uncomfortably near  
My old heart ain't gaining no ground  
Because my angel eyes ain't here”

The lyrics poured out of the old record player like the heavy and aromatic wine that an angel and a demon enjoyed together, one night, in a small, conspicuously inconspicuous bookshop in London. Aziraphale had just received from one of his few actual customers a collection of records. Its box had simply declared to be a ‘best of’ and Aziraphale had simply assumed, this would include everything that humans had ever published on records. Crowley had come by his shop when he had inspected the package and had worn a rather disgusted look when he had heard that it was a gift of a human customer who intended to express his long admiration for the shop. Still, he had no objections when Aziraphale asked him if he would like to stay for a glass of wine while listening to some of the records. As Ella Fitzgerald’s voice echoed through the bookshelves, the empty wine bottles and the dozens of candles that illuminated the room, Crowley found himself rather engaged with the melody that moved along like a cat carefully treading and lurking in a moonless night. He felt the effects of the alcohol pleasantly numbing his body but not as much as to make him dizzy.  
Aziraphale took in the comfortable silence that existed after a pleasant and agreeable conversation. All conversations had been pleasant and agreeable since armageddon and the angel was reminded of the Ritz and their evenings amidst exquisite food, drinks and music. His thoughts rested a moment on an image of several elegantly dressed people, dancing around a grand piano.  
“I wonder,” he said slowly and even though his voice was low he immediately had the demon’s attention, “why is it not in our nature to dance? Why should angels not dance if it can look so divinely? Humans commonly sing their praises to God, so why not express them in dance as well?”  
Aziraphale just moved along with his train of thought, asking those question without much further consideration. Crowley seemed amused, which he always did when they questioned God’s decisions.  
“I bet it’s just another one of Her nonsensical rules. Rules for the sake of rules. Look, demons dance, humans dance, why shouldn’t angels dance? And didn’t you already learned one, it looked kinda stupid but it still counted as a dance.”  
As Crowley spoke he emphasised his words with big hand gestures. He had forgotten that he still held his glass and spilled some wine over the wooden floor, he didn’t seem or just refused to notice.  
“The gavotte,” the angel said. He was not pleased about the red spots on the floor and made a mental note to clean it up after he had sobered up, “and that was, I have to say, hard work. I’m still quite shocked that humans seemed to have forgotten about it by now. It was clearly the best dance they have ever created.”  
“Nonsense,” cried Crowley, “dancing only became interesting in the last century. Everything before the 20th century is rubbish.”  
“You only think that because you have no idea what GOOD dancing is,” returned Aziraphale, “did anyone of your kind ever attempted to learn the classics? The waltz? The slow foxtrot?”  
“I did,” said the demon, his voice had a certain gravity. He wasn’t joking.  
“I find it hard to believe you,” mumbled the angel as he realised he had probably drank a glass too much. He forced at least some of the alcohol out of his system, before continuing: “This really doesn’t suit you, my dear.”  
Crowley shrugged and stood up.  
“You don’t believe me? Then I will show you, even better, let me teach you. I will prove you and God wrong.”  
He offered Aziraphale a hand, he still wore his glasses, but he knew that Crowley had forced him into a situation he could hardly escape and he was visibly enjoying his triumph. Aziraphale ignored his outstretched hand, but stood up nonetheless.  
“If you are so knowledgeable in human dancing it should be easy for you to teach me a simple partner dance?”  
The angel believed he would take back his offer if he would ask for anything besides freestyle, which is the common term to refer to whatever demons usually did when they danced.  
To Aziraphale’s disbelief, Crowley appeared unwavered, he took a step towards him.  
“Alright,” he said in the same voice with which he had so often agreed to handle their assigned blessing as well as the temptations.  
“First, you need lay your hand around here at my hip,” he took Aziraphale’s hands and moved them into their right positions. He was so baffled by the demon’s calmness and competence that he didn’t even thought of protesting. The angel found himself face to face with him, the music resumed somewhere in the distance.  
“I’ll lead,” grunted Crowley, though it was one of his softer grunts. Aziraphale was rather proud that he had learned, during all those years they met in the last few thousand of years, to distinguish between Crowley’s many different grunts and their meanings. In fact, he could probably write a whole book about it: “A Demon’s Grunting and How to Interpret Them”.  
For a moment, Aziraphale amused himself with the thought of having a book with this title on display at his bookshop and then, more solemnly, he had to admit that literally heaven and hell would break loose if they found out that an angel would have such a detailed knowledge about a demon.  
“Standing around doesn’t count as dancing, if you don’t move along I cannot teach you,” sighed the demon and was about to draw his hands back when Aziraphale, in the spur of the moment, took them and moved them back to their original position.  
“No,” he began, rather flustered, before becoming self-aware of his abrupt action and continuing in a calmer tone, “I was simply astonished how close you are to your partner, it never seemed that way when I was observing it.”  
Crowley threw him a glance over his slightly down-tilted glasses.  
“Really, Angel, dancing is one of the most effective mating ritual humans have practiced for almost as long as the Beginning. If they wouldn’t be close, I reckon a lot of dances would have never been so popular.”  
“Never cease to amaze me,” Aziraphale said and hastily added, “these humans, I mean.”  
“Mmmmhh,” grunted Crowley. (This grunt was somewhere between curiosity and a lazy substitution of a more pronounced answer)  
The angel hadn’t noticed but as they were speaking, his dancing partner had already began to slowly move from left to right. It wasn’t even a step, just his body that moved along with his own to the slow rhythm that came from the record player. When Crowley began to add a step to their movement it felt natural, like puzzle pieces coming together without much thought.  
This was truly a different experiences than the gavotte that Aziraphale had learned, he had had to memorize every step and change in the pattern, nothing had been on instinct. There surely hadn’t been this sensation that came from the vibration of the music that now seemed to resonate in his body. So it WAS possible for an angel to feel rhythm, just as it was possible for a demon to dance in a coordinated manner. Both aspects had been believed to be impossible, he would even dare say, ineffable. But here they were, carefully moving around his dimly lit bookshop. With each step more assured, more in sync, more comfortable in each other’s company. 

“Angel eyes, that old Devil sent  
They glow unbearably bright  
Need I say that my love's misspent  
Misspent with angel eyes tonight”

For a while, Crowley fixed his eyes on something indistinct as if he was lost in thoughts, though one could never be for entirely sure with his darkened glasses. He would never admit it, but Aziraphale knew all too well that he tends to get broody whenever he does something he believes God forbade him.  
“I believe I’m now fairly well acquainted with the basics,” declared the angel to bring his attention back to the him. “How about we continue with something more difficult, something…” he searched in his thousand-year old mind for the right word and got stuck in the wrong century, “...groovy?”  
Crowley certainly looked at him for one long second before he bursted into a short and violent laughter.  
“Groovy? Ah, this is golden. Especially if you had ANY idea how humans danced when they actually called it groovy.”  
As he mimicked his tone, Aziraphale threw one of his few but effective disapproving glares at him. Crowley didn’t apologize but also knew better than to provoke him further.  
“Fine,” the demon said still wearing a mild grin on his face, “how about we add a few twists and turns.”  
And so they did, the movements were quicker and more demanding. Aziraphale was aware of the bad constitution of his earthly body, yet strangely he didn’t mind it. 

“So drink up all you people  
Order anything you see  
Have fun you happy people  
The laughs and the jokes on me”

The dance seemed like eternity, in fact, the song should have been over a long time ago, yet it continued as if someone had set the old record player on infinite repeat. (a small miracle perhaps that none of the two would ever confess?) Aziraphale intended to make sure that Crowley couldn’t drift away into unpleasant thoughts and locked his eyes unto his beyond the dark glasses. What Aziraphale didn’t know was that the demon’s snake eyes, with their slint, razorsharp pupils, were intensely staring into his. The were completely lost in the angel’s blue eyes that seemed so pure and dazzling, yet cold and otherworldly, in other words, celestial. Crowley admired them, worshipped them, envied them. Once, he had also possessed eyes like glowing amber, powerful and warm with which he had been able to look far into the depths of the cosmos. 

“Pardon me but I got to run  
The fact's uncommonly clear  
Got to find who's now number one  
And why my angel eyes ain't here  
Oh, where is my angel eyes.”

One step came half a heartbeat too late and for a moment they were out of sync. Aziraphale looked apologetically but attempted to rejoin the move pattern Crowley dictated. He hadn’t noticed but it seemed he had indeed sped up their choreography, but the angel hadn’t protested in any way despite looking quite out of breath. The demon’s next words came from a whirl of misplaced admiration, ancient melancholy and his ever-present sarcastic nature:  
“Still keeping up or am I going too fast for you, Angel?” he asked playfully.  
He could have never predicted Aziraphale’s reaction. The angel stopped abruptly, one hand around his waist fell down, the other squeezed Crowley’s hand with surprising intensity.  
“Why would you…” he began, for an instance he didn’t find the right words. The crystal-clear blue of his eyes was new grey and clouded.  
It was an unspoken rule in Crowley’s world that whatever happened, it was somebody else’s fault and it was usually Aziraphale’s task to point out when they both messed up to which he did as much as not to protest. This time, however, this time was different. Everything inside the demon told him that it had been his fault, he had deliberately chosen these very words knowing perfectly well that they had avoided to talk about this particular conversation for several decades.  
His demonic instincts told him that it didn’t matter. What if he had hurt Aziraphale, HE had hurt him with the same sentence so it was just fair payback. There was another voice, maybe a voice shaped by human influences over hundreds of years, and it told him that reminding Aziraphale of this out of the blue had been one step too far, even if he hadn’t meant it completely serious.  
Crowley attempted an apology, but something like a simple ‘sorry’ went gravely against all of his hellish instincts. So all he said was: “Ssssss,” which sounded like the sizzling of a snake.  
Aziraphale still hold on to one of his hands and grabbed with the other his glass, still half full with deep red wine, that stood on a bookshelf nearby.  
“Stop it with the sizzling, you old serpent,” he said in a thoughtful, but surprisingly light tone as he looked into his glass.  
“You know, I thought it over and over, many times,” Aziraphale continued, “how I should properly apologize for what I said...for how I rejected your offers, especially when you seemed genuinely thankful for the first time since that one time in India when…”  
“Please, DON’T remind me of that,” Crowley interrupted, he had repressed flashbacks of an exotique market with all kinds of rare snakes.  
A smile came and went so quickly the demon might have missed it if he would have blinked. Aziraphale’s tone left no doubt that he had carried these words within him for quite a long time.  
“I was a coward. The more I appreciated your company, the bigger of a coward I became,” he shook his head and took a long sip from his wine, “what was God even thinking when She assigned me to be one of the guardians of Eden, I have never felt brave in any moment of my long existence, especially after you had risked so much during World War II and...”  
“Are you kidding me?” interrupted Crowley, he took his glass away from him and moved Aziraphale’s free hand back to his hip. He was conscious of the music filling the room (Had the song stop at one point? He couldn’t remember) and guided the angel along a simple, yet elegant waltz.  
“I will probably burn my tongue or my vocal chords will explode or something like that if I would compliment an angel directly, so don’t expect me to tell you how mistaken you are. I mean, just look at us, an angel and a demon, both dancing (and not too bad if I say so myself) and giving a shit about what heaven or hell might think about all of this. We created our own side, our own rules, heck, our own world.”  
As Crowley spoke, their previous harmony had returned, their steps were as if they were one person, one being. Complete, Aziraphale thought, he felt undoubtedly secure and complete. It would certainly take another hundred years until the angel would be able to tell Crowley this though. For now, he nodded and accepted gratefully his words.  
“Maybe it just hadn’t been the right time, the right place. Still…if there is anything I can do to make up for my badly chosen words from that time.”  
As soon as he finished his sentence, Crowley abruptly pulled the angel towards him. The small, yet respectful distance that they had kept during their dance was gone. The demon’s glasses had slid down. Blazing orange caught and tightly held on to radiating blue.  
“I want your eyes. They are disgusting.”  
“Excuse me?” said Aziraphale, his protest was far from serious and he didn’t appear as flustered as he probably should have been.  
Crowley realised that his sentences didn’t make much sense.  
“They are too bright, too beautiful, it’s disgusting.”  
Slowly, the angel began to understand.  
“That might pose several problems, I fear,” he said.  
“So it was an empty offer, as expected,” Crowley returned nastily without any real nastiness behind his words.  
“Maybe we can reach another agreement,” the angel suggested and forced his partner into another dance since they were so close Crowley had no other choice but to react to his steps. The angel was a quick learner and replicated the demon’s move patterns with ease.  
“What would you suggest?” Crowley asked with honest curiosity.  
“I can’t miracle myself another pair of eyes - and the idea is honestly rather disturbing. But I could ascertain you...a kind of ownership.”  
“So technically, I would own the eyes of an angel? For eternity?”  
“For eternity,” repeated Aziraphale. He should have been aware of how absurd this offer actually was. The angel would later blame the alcohol that had been in his system during that time, even though he knew, deep down, it had been a bizarre mixture of very human emotions, which had led him to this suggestion. Even more surprising, he would later think, had been Crowley’s reaction.  
A strange calmness had eased his facial expression as if it had found a safe place to rest after a tiresome and seemingly endless walk.  
“I accept this agreement,” the demon said and didn’t even dare as to blink as he now found Aziraphale’s eyes to be familiar and warm. If they had possessed a divine aura before, it appeared, at least for him, to be gone.  
“I will immediately invoke my rights. I want them to be mine until the end of this dance,” he declared and the angel obliged without any moment hesitation, as they continued their slow dance long, long into the night.

“Excuse me while I disappear  
Angel eyes, angel eyes”


End file.
